


I'll Make This Feel Like Home

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Future Fic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, literally so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9077803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: Stability is a beautiful thing. Or, the one in which the pack is safe and happy, and Scott has a very important question to ask Derek.





	

**Author's Note:**

> let's pretend it's still Christmas and this isn't late at all! thanks to Kat for the beta<3

This time of year is Scott’s favorite. 

The weather might have just managed to drop below 70, so there’s no snow or Jack Frost nipping at his nose, but there are houses strewn with lights lining the streets, big blow-up Santas and reindeer in lawns, and the smell of tamales coming out of his mom’s house, accompanied by the loud ruckus of people inside. 

It's great to be an adult and have his own place and not have to worry about whether there’s still milk in the fridge or whose underwear is on the floor of the bathroom, but the pack animal in him misses this like hell -- the house filled from corner to corner with family, voices shouting across the room over the strain of Christmas music.

He pops open the screen and leaves his shoes in the mountain of others: work boots, heels, tiny glittery ballet flats, and Spider-Man light up shoes. There’s no more room on any of the hooks for his jacket, but a chair is stationed right next to the door with a stack of coats on top of it already. 

Scott drops his on the heap, careful to extract the big glittering, silver ornament from the front pocket, deciding who to say hello to first. He can hear his mom shooing the kids out of the kitchen, “leave your abuela alone! If I catch your fingers in my chicken, I’ll bite them off!”

It’s Amora who shrieks and giggles, and comes tearing out of the kitchen in her Christmas dress, red and flowing with a pair of white tights underneath, the feet already dirty and grey. Miguel comes toddling after her, decked out in a little vest and tie. 

“Watch for pedestrians, my dudes!” Stiles shouts, coming up behind them, unhurried and not overly concerned. He brightens when he sees Scott and drags him in for a crushing hug. “Scotty!”

“Stiles.” Scott presses a kiss to Stiles’ whiskery cheek, returning the tight squeeze of his hug. There’s a warm smell to him, like cookies and cuddles and toddlers. Which, makes sense, all things considered.

“You look good,” Stiles says, like he didn’t just see Scott yesterday. “Still dunno what I think about the beard, but --”

“You’ve said that every day since I started growing it out,” Scott grouses, scratching his fingers through it. It’s longer than he usually lets it get. It keeps his face warm. “Derek likes it.”

“That’s all that matters,” Stiles says, with a dramatic wink. “Where is he, anyway? I expected him to be attached to your hip.”

“He wanted some quiet time to write,” Scott says, unable to help the way his smile goes soft and small, remembering how he left Derek covered in blankets on the couch, frowning at the screen as he typed -- their three-legged mutt, Hiccup, firmly planted on his feet.

“The werewolf writing a werewolf novel,” Stiles says, with a grin, slinging his arm over Scott’s shoulder. He looks at Scott’s hand wrapped around the ornament. “That the…?”

“Yup,” Scott says, brightly, heart leaping to the top of his throat even as he hip checks Stiles lightly and pulls him into the living room to find a place for it.

The tree is fat and deeply green, pine scent filling Scott’s head as he gets closer. Not strong enough to overpower the smell of cooking tamales in the kitchen, but close. It’s a riot of colors and mismatched ornaments. In the front, Scott can see Lily’s first ornament, pastel purple with a sleeping rabbit; his own from when he was born, a baby rocking away in an angel’s wing; Stiles’ from the Christmas he was obsessed with Barbie -- all pink and worn, but somehow still so glittery.

There are others from over the years. Picture frames and popsicle stick creations, hand painted, super-glued, bits chipping off. Older than him, younger than him, a new one off the right that’s for Rayne. There’s a pile of presents underneath up to his knee, and Scott’s whole chest aches thinking about how his mom used to worry about buying groceries when he was in high school, and how that’s the last thing on her mind now, mostly thanks to the pack and the way they all readily take care of each other.

Scott smiles to himself and puts the silver ball low, so that it's not obvious.

There’s a displeased yowl from underneath the branches directly below where he hooks the ball, and, through the pines, he can see Toothless glaring at him, gold-green eyes narrowing at him in a way that reminds him of Derek. 

“Shuddup, you lump of coal,” Scott says fondly as she unwinds and stretches, slinking off to find someplace to hide or scratch up the corner of his mom’s couch. He’ll never understand cats; he knows she loves him, but she’s so _prickly_. Of course, that reminds Scott of Derek, too.

The ornament catches the light, and Scott’s stomach goes all squiggly again.

“You look like you’re gunna vom,” Stiles says, throwing his head back and laughing. Scott punches him in the arm, pulling it so that it’s a light tap more than anything. It still makes Stiles cringe and wince and hold his arm until Amora toddles up to them with a pout on her face.

“Dad, are you hurt?” she asks, with her eyes big and watery and concerned. Stiles giggles helplessly and crouches down to pick her up, blowing a raspberry into her chubby cheek.

“Not any more, princess,” Stiles says, as Amora shrieks and wiggles. “Now that my baby is here!”

“He wasn’t hurt anyway,” Scott says, grumbling. 

“Tator Tot hurt daddy,” Amora says, with an accusing frown. The grin on Stiles’ face gets wider. Scott doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being proud of himself for getting Amora to call Scott ‘Tator Tot’ when she was too young to pronounce the ‘sc’ in his name. 

“I was just messing around, nugget,” Scott says, very seriously. “But you’re right. I’m a big strong wolf, and I shouldn’t go around hitting scrawny humans.”

Stiles scowls, but Amora starts nodding enthusiastically. 

“Exactly!” Amora yells, thrusting her finger at him. He pretends to bite it, and she rears back, cackling. “Tot! Tot!”

“Don’t point fingers, chickadee,” Malia says, coming up behind Stiles. She slides her hand along Amora’s back and leans over Stiles to kiss Scott on the cheek. “Hey, Scott. Where’s Derek?”

“At home. Writing.” 

“Of course,” Malia says, grinning. She grabs Amora as the toddler slumps sideways in her dad’s arm to get to Malia, pulling her close. “Your mom’s wondering why you came in without saying hello. Everyone in the back’s looking for you.”

“They can find me, it’s not a very big house,” Scott grumbles, heading towards the kitchen to find his mom with Stiles behind him. Malia peels away with Amora clinging to her, regaling her with the story of Uncle Tot’s assault on her dad, over dramatic and wild as always.

When they get back to the kitchen, there’s his mom at the table with an assembly line of pack members working on tamales. Mom spreads the masa over the corn husk, then hands it down to Mason. He adds the chicken and hands it to Liam, who adds the sauce, their hands working automatically as they talk over each other. 

Hayden’s at the end, hand over her swollen belly, putting the finished products in aluminum foil pans with her feet up on a chair and a pillow behind her back. Scott kisses the top of her head, and then Liam’s, Mason’s, mom’s. 

“You’ve been here for minutes and didn’t say hello,” his mom says, disapprovingly. 

“Had to put my present up,” he says, eyeballing Mason’s boyfriend, James, as he tentatively pours the lard into the masa. Scott laughs. “Don’t be stingy with that.”

“And more salt,” mom adds, raising her eyebrows as James spooks at the sound of Scott’s voice. He’s the emissary for the Nguyen pack further north, and he’s relatively new to the unrestrained chaos that is McCall pack holiday gatherings. 

“Where’s Derek?” she asks, after James has added a palm full of salt and most of the container of warmed up lard.

“‘Hi, son of mine, how are you?’” Scott says. “I’m great mom, how are you?”

“Where’s Derek?” she asks again, grinning at him cheekily.

“He’s coming,” Scott says, sighing.

“We never see you without him, that’s why everyone’s asking,” Stiles says, gently, grabbing an arm full of sodas out of the huge Rubbermaid cooler in the corner and passing them out to the table. 

There’s a chorus of tapping as Stiles and Scott and Liam hit their fingers on the tops before popping them open, a habit none of them knows who started. That happens a lot with the pack, Scott thinks. It’s been a decade since Scott bit Liam, since the others joined up, and sure people have come and gone, but days like this, when they’re all together, serve as a reminder of how interconnected they still are. 

Exchanging habits and speech patterns and settling into each other easily, no matter how long they’ve been apart. It makes Scott warm with pride knowing that he’s a part of it, that’s he’s the alpha of such a strong pack. That everything they’ve been through was worth it, in the end. That it mattered, in the end. That they got a family like this out of it.

“You’re thinking sappy thoughts, aren’t you?” Liam asks, with a sly grin. Scott screws his face up to fight a smile. 

“Aw, Scotty, what was it?” Stiles asks, handing him a Dr Pepper and shoving their shoulders together. “Getting all sentimental about us all being together and happy for the holidays?”

“Something like that,” Scott agrees, letting himself smile wide. His pack knows him too well. Liam and Hayden can probably smell how warm his thoughts are, knows that love has that sugar cookie smell that Scott doesn’t bother suppressing. He enjoys reminding them when he can; letting them know how much he cares, how much he’ll always care. 

“Please leave immediately,” Hayden says, grimacing. “You’re making me sick.”

“I think that’s the baby,” Scott says, lightly, but he does have people to say hello to, so he presses more kisses to foreheads and fist bumps James before dragging Stiles out back with him to greet the rest of the pack.

 

 

“I love Christmas,” Scott says, slightly wistful as Lily comes running around them, quick as her little coyote legs will carry her. She’s the spitting image of Cora’s wife, Candice -- hair dark and thick and curly, wild around her face, framing her sweet, chubby cheeks and almond eyes in a way that makes her look like a perfect cherub. 

“Alpha Scott, finally!” she says, not even winded. She throws her arms around him and hugs him tight before grabbing his hand and dragging him over to where her moms are. 

“Yeah, Alpha Scott, _finally_ ,” Cora teases, leaning forward to kiss Scott on the cheek. Scott kisses her back, pulling her into a tight hug, making her smell more like pack. He’s not her alpha, not really, but she’s family, and it’s better this way.

Scott lets her go and gives Candice a hug that’s just as tight. 

“It’s so good to see you guys,” Scott says. “It’s been forever.”

That warm feel knots up in his chest as he takes them in, looking no different than they did when he last saw them. Of course, they wouldn’t -- slowed aging and all that, the youthful vitality a shifter has. Candice has the same bright look in her eyes that all coyotes do, making her seem forever young and full of mischief.

“We were here at the end of summer,” Cora says, long-suffering as always. She can probably tell that he’s thinking sappy thoughts, and it’s probably making her uncomfortable. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“Long enough,” Candice says, hip checking Cora playfully before she asks Scott about the clinic and the Preserve and how everyone’s been dealing with the persistent peace. 

Running the clinic with Deaton gave Scott enough money to move his mom from their old house to a new place on the edge of the Preserve. Acres of land stretching out to touch the wood. Large enough for Derek to install a playground set for the little ones, and Stiles to insist on an above ground pool. Large enough that it became the unofficial pack meeting place during the Wolf Moon, or a solstice, or a holiday, or when they plan their vacations to overlap and get some time to themselves. 

It’s the perfect place to shift and play and run and not have to worry about anything. Protected by Mason’s emissary powers and the good will of the druids who reclaimed the Nemeton, it’s safe, and new without feeling foreign. No bad memories to taint the energy of the space. 

Scott loves it. Nearly every month he thinks about begging Derek to move in with mom so that he’ll have a yard like this, and not that modest little thing out back of their condo. He has all the arguments planned out too -- enough space for a real garden, not that tiny box Derek grows herbs in; all the room they could possibly want to run around, far away from the sounds and smells of the heart of the city. Just them and clean air and helping Scott’s mom around the house. 

Maybe one day he’ll bring it up. Maybe they’ll build a house right next door and share a backyard. Maybe after, well...

“Where’s Miguel?” Scott hears Hayden say, voice raised a bit so the wolves in the yard can hear her. Before Scott has time to open his mouth, there’s a responding chorus of ‘outside!’ -- Lily’s voice ringing out the loudest. 

“Go see your mom!” Stiles hollers across the yard, and Miguel slides down the playground slide and waddles into the house, Lily and Amora chasing after him. 

“Tiny pack,” Malia says fondly, slinging her arm around Stiles’ shoulders to pull him in for a kiss. He obliges, heart jumping the tiniest bit when she cups his jaw. Scott smiles and looks away, waving at Danny and Isaac across the yard. 

He lets Stiles and Malia do their own thing and mingles, saying hello to everyone and catching up as much as he can before his attention is diverted by someone else, or a little one, or Astrid barrelling out of the line of trees with the yorkies, Tuffnut and Ruffnut, right beside her, all three of them slamming into Scott’s legs at full speed. 

He barely manages to keep himself upright, laughing madly as they headbutt him and lick at his hands. The fact that his mom’s place is big enough for all their favorite rescues is another thing he’ll always be thankful for, even if they get paw prints all over his pants. 

There’s a ruckus when Lydia arrives, announced in advance by Miguel, who picks up on the sound of the car turning down the block. Scott already knew, mostly because there’s an ‘omw’ text message in his phone, but also because he heard them from further away, but he doesn’t say that, just praises Miguel for his listening skills before going back into the house.

A few others follow him so Lydia’s greeted by a crowd all demanding hugs and kisses. She looks gorgeous, wide eyes framed with black, curls falling loosely around her chin; the shorter cut suits her, makes all her angles a little softer. The little ones help unload the bags of gifts, pushing them under the tree with the others. Scott’s only just said hello and taken Lydia’s purse when his mom calls him into the kitchen for his turn helping with the tamales. 

“Kira’s going to be late,” Lydia says, following Scott into the kitchen. The coat she has on is probably more expensive than his entire wardrobe, but she lets Miguel give her a clinging hug with masa all over his hands anyway. “She’s still an hour out.”

It seems like Mason’s given up and he’s trying to convince James to slow dance around the kitchen with him, which prompts Liam to pull Hayden up and waltz her away. 

“Well, that blows,” Scott says, but he figured as much. She had to drive up north to pick up her parents after their car broke down. Scott already talked about it with Derek, and their Christmas present is paying for repairs, but that doesn’t help _today_. 

“Fucking yeah it does,” Lydia says thoughtfully, then she gives Scott a significant look. “She said do presents without her. She doesn’t want to hold up the kids, they might not get here before tiny people’s bedtimes.” 

Scott’s stomach knots up all over again, and he just nods. The grin Lydia gives him is blinding before she turns to say hello to his mom, kissing her head and taking Liam’s place. Malia drops into Mason’s chair, and Miguel sits right next to her, feet barely hanging over the edge of the chair, and just like that, they’ve effectively rotated one tamale making crew out and gotten another in without fuss. 

Mom smiles while she works, hair fly-away from the heat, undyed grey peaking out. She hates it, but Scott loves it, loves seeing the well-worn crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, mouth creases getting deeper, the silver highlights in her hair. She looks wiser everyday, and Scott likes seeing that. 

Maybe it’s because it's evidence that they’re getting older, that time didn’t stop in high school, that the world never ended. Now there are babies, and his mom is going to grow old, and he doesn’t have to worry about it. Not the way he used to have to. 

They’ve had peace for years, but it still dumbfounds him when he really thinks about it. The security and quiet that Beacon Hills has sunken into. Home owning and rescue animals and babies and… marriages. Scott grins to himself, kneading the masa, listening to mom and Malia talk about Amora going to school next year. Stability is such a beautiful thing in life.

 

 

By the time Derek gets there, more pack has arrived, and they’ve rotated tamale duty again. Deaton, Chris, and Noah are in the kitchen with mom this time, the rest of the pack still in the backyard or the living room. 

Scott’s chasing the kids around the playground, valiantly fending off Lily’s attempts to get him onto the slide, when he hears the Toyota turn down the street. He feels himself freeze, heart leaping before he manages to get it under control. A few heads pick up, frowning at him, but he ignores them, running his hand through his hair. 

“Uncle Derek’s almost here,” Scott tells the kids. They all stumble to a halt and let out a cheer, racing for the door. Scott follows at a more reasonable speed, making sure all his chemosignals are under control. 

He doesn't want to be too obvious and give anything away too soon. He's a mess of anxiety, but Derek doesn't need to know that. 

The door opens, and there’s another huge commotion of barking and screaming giggles. Derek’s got Hiccup straining at the leash, bouncing around happily, yipping until Derek gets him unhooked. When he’s free, he takes off in the direction of the backyard, barking to announce his arrival. 

Astrid and the pups answer him excitedly. Scott can hear when they collide outside, a mess of wagging tails and happy noises and panting. 

“He’s so fast!” Lily’s saying, wiggling in Derek’s arms as Scott makes his way to Derek’s side. He looks amazing in his warm grey sweater, soft and thick; tight jeans, a pair of nice boots. His hair is longer than usual, overdue for a cut, but it’s combed back and wavy, and it makes Derek look like a Disney prince. 

Disney princes don’t usually have salt-and-pepper beards, but it suits Derek. Maybe he’s more of a king now, Scott thinks, watching Derek nuzzle Lily’s cheek. 

“That’s because he’s a super dog,” Derek says, seriously. Scott can tell by the look on her face that she doesn’t know whether or not to believe him, but Derek distracts her by blowing a huge raspberry into her neck. 

Lily screeches and giggles and demands to be let go, giving Scott room to slot himself into Derek’s side and kiss his jaw when she takes off after the dogs. Derek’s hand slides around Scott’s waist, palm sitting on his hip automatically. It’s funny sometimes, just how perfectly they fit together.

“I didn’t know you were bringing the pup,” he says, adding three more kisses for good measure. There’s a smile at the corner of Derek’s mouth, heavy and sweet. His eyes are soft and he smells like cooked sugar. A fond feeling settles deep in Scott, a subtle reassurance that helps calm his anxiety a tiny bit.

“Liked the idea of the whole family here,” Derek says, low and sincere, and it’s so adorable that Scott can’t even tease him for being a massive dork. 

“The adults are in the kitchen, your sister’s in the back,” Scott tells him as he slides Derek’s coat off and puts it on the chair, digging around in the pockets for the stack of Christmas cards he knows Derek brought. 

It’s a thick bunch, wrapped neatly with ribbon. They spent all night handwriting notes and padding them with gift cards. ‘Tis the season to spoil everyone in sight, Scott reasons, and he knows Derek agrees -- Derek’s obsessed with gift giving.

“You know you’re an adult now, right?” Derek asks, with a grin, pulling Scott in by his wrist so he can hug him again and press his nose to Scott’s cheek, nipping at his chin playfully. Scott lets out an undignified yelp and wiggles away. 

“Right, but they’re the _adults_. We’re the unnamed transitional generation between adults and kids.”

“I love when you use convoluted statements to get your point across,” Derek growls playfully, tightening his hold on Scott’s waist. “It’s devastatingly sexy.”

“I’m glad the magic hasn’t worn off,” Scott says, unable to help the big laugh that escapes him, warm knot in his chest tightening. The low light in the entryway makes it look like Derek’s eyes are glittering at him, deep green with a shock of gold through the middle. 

Scott’s heart trips hard as he watches Derek watch him, the moment suspended between them, weighted with something Scott can’t even name, and _god_ , he's gunna -- 

Derek frowns. 

“You okay?” he asks, brushing his thumb along Scott’s cheek. That doesn’t help the way Scott’s heart is pounding, but at least it’s a great reason for it to be working double time. 

“Better now that you’re here,” Scott says, nuzzling into Derek’s palm before pulling away. He needs to stop thinking about it. They’ll get there. Soon, too. “Help me bring in the presents?”

“You’ve been here for nearly two hours,” Derek says, rolling his eyes, but he’s already sliding his hand into Scott’s front pocket to grab his keys out. The drag of Derek’s fingers against his upper thigh makes Scott huff as he stares Derek down. All he gets in response is a wolfish grin until Scott cracks and shoves Derek towards the door. 

It’s nice that after five years together, Derek’s touch can still get him wound up like nothing else, but it’s less nice when there’s a house full of shifters that can definitely smell his reaction to everything Derek does.

Derek stands obediently by the trunk of Scott’s car as Scott loads him up with presents and sends him on his way before grabbing the rest and trailing after him. When they get them to the living room, there’s no way to actually put them ‘under’ the tree, just around, gift wrapped boxes radiating out like the rays of the sun. There are even gifts _on_ the tree. Little boxes of jewelry and gift cards hanging from the branches to give out to the people who tagged along, the ones they weren’t prepared for. 

“How did writing go?” Scott asks, slipping his hand into Derek’s back pocket and tugging him towards the yard so he can make the rounds. Their sides press together as they walk in tandem, taking giant, exaggerated steps.

“Went alright,” Derek says. Scott can hear him smiling. “Casey and Martin are becoming tentative allies. They’re making progress.”

“I’m proud of them,” Scott says, with a sly smile. “They’ve come so far.”

“They have,” Derek hums, in agreement. “From enemies to… not enemies.”

“Eventually they’ll be friends, right?” Scott asks, ducking his head to hide the way his grin is getting wide. Derek laughs at him, big hand coming around to cup Scott’s neck. 

“Really good friend,” he agrees. “Maybe more.”

“Oh, _controversial_ ,” Scott coos, stopping them outside the door so he can tip toe and press a kiss to Derek’s mouth, nuzzling against his cheek. It’s a poorly concealed secret that Derek’s writing a novel loosely based on his life, and that there’s a character based on _Scott_. 

Scott expects it to be emotionally revealing, and that it will embarrass Derek when it comes out. He’ll have to talk about his inspiration. He won’t know where to start without sounding like a sap. Scott looks forward to it. 

“Stop hogging Derek!” Cora yells, from the playground. One hand on her hip, the other pushing Lily on the swing.

Scott reluctantly lets go of Derek so they can make their way over and say their hellos. 

After that it’s a free for all. Scott trails behind while Derek talks to everyone, keeping their fingers linked, answering questions when they’re directed at him. Now that Derek’s here, he’s getting nervous. 

It’ll be time to open the presents soon, and everyone will be crowded in the livingroom, and -- yeah, Scott doesn’t want to think about it. But it’s hard not to. It’s been the only thing on his mind for weeks, and it’s so close -- 

It’s ridiculous to be terrified of a life changing moment that you’ve set yourself up for, but Scott _is_. Even if it’s a good terrified. It’s still terrified. 

“You’re quiet,” Derek says, as Danny and Isaac over the semantics of the story they were trying to tell Derek -- something about the shop and a car Isaac was working on, Scott isn’t even sure. He wasn’t really listening. 

“Just tired,” Scott says, with a shrug. It’s not a total lie, he’s definitely tired. He feels like a part of him has been on edge all day. One side, totally at ease and cozy with his pack. The other side, a mess of poorly restrained emotions.

Holidays in a nutshell. 

Mom saves his contemplative mood by coming to the back door with a huge box full of stockings -- apron gone, hair neatly smoothed back into a bun, hands free of masa and chicken grease. 

“Last of the tamales in the oven,” she says brightly, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Why don’t we start presents?” 

There’s a _whoop!_ from someone as the kids cheer and come racing to the door. Mom steps back and lets them through, eyes finding Derek. 

“How long has Derek been here?” she demands, glaring at Scott. “Both of you, honestly.”

“Sorry, ma,” Derek says, ducking his head and giving her a sheepish look. He takes the container from her and presses a kiss to her cheek. Once her hands are free, she returns it, greeting him with a soft “ _mijito_ ” that Scott nearly misses.

That stupid warm-tight feeling in Scott’s chest is back as he watches them walk back to the living room together, mom asking about his day and his writing in an earnest voice. There’s an endearing smile on Derek’s face that makes Scott want to kiss him. That can wait, though. 

Now there’s presents to attend to, people to get settled down. 

The noise is loud and staticy as everyone finds place to sit, dragging in extra chairs from the kitchen and off the patio. There’s a few people on the stairs, tucked onto laps, on the floor. Hayden gets the chair with the foot rest while Liam perches on the arm of it, Miguel in his lap. Amora and Lily are sitting right in front of the tree, hands on their laps, waiting.

Scott doesn’t bother waiting for the room to settle before he starts handing out gifts to distract himself from the growing anxiety at the pit of his stomach. 

In the corner, Lydia’s snapping away with her camera, letting her presents pile up at her feet, unconcerned. Scott uses his phone to take pictures of Amora as she makes Stiles help her unwrap, chubby hands tearing at the paper, eyes flashing gold in her excitement.

After two minutes, the floor is a mess of wrapping paper as everyone coos over their presents, shouting thanks and asking to see what other people got, laughing at the funny ones. Noah produces a huge garbage bag out of nowhere, making Isaac and Corey help him pick up. Scott pushes the mounds of paper over as best as he can while still sifting through the piles to find the owners of various gifts.

Malia takes the stack of cards and passes them left, letting people sift through and find their own, tossing them around to the people that they belong to. There are flying envelopes and toys making noises and people laughing. The whole room smells bright, lovely and warm, like a whole rack of cookies, like happiness. 

Mom’s unwrapped the necklace Derek got her -- something gold and sparkling and so expensive Derek wouldn’t even tell Scott how much it cost -- and she’s crying at Derek a little bit, face warm and appreciative. 

So while Derek’s occupied with mom’s hug, Scott makes his way to the tree, grabbing out the ornament with a little jingle. The whole room goes silent, everyone’s breath caught on a down note. Even the kids get quiet, like they know.

Before Scott even turns around, he can feel that Derek’s stiffened up in confusion. Doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. He can read Derek from across the room -- hell, he could probably read Derek from across town. There’s a hint of anxiety before Derek reels it in and stifles his chemosignals, like he’s waiting to see what’s going to happen. 

Scott lets his out a little, lets the room feel how nervous he is, how hard his heart is pounding. His palms are sweaty around the ornament, making the glitter come off. The tension in the room goes up a notch when he turns, all his focus on Derek.

Derek. 

Beautiful Derek with his soft eyes all baffled, a little blush on his cheeks from mom’s thanks. He’s sitting facing Scott, frowning a bit, waiting. Scott catalogues the rise-fall of his chest, the grey peppering his beard; he lets himself marvel at Derek for a moment -- how gorgeous he is, how kind and loving he’s proven himself to be. 

He lets that admiration trickle out of him, smiling at Derek, hand tightening on the ornament. Everyone in the room is watching him, but all he can focus on is the way Derek’s heart starts thudding in his chest, like he’s anticipating what’s going to come next. 

“It’s, uh, your turn,” Scott says slowly, voice coming out of him roughly. He feels his face heat up, stomach curling sharply. God, he’s really doing this. “For your present.”

“Scott,” Derek says, so gently, nearly a question, but he knows, he has to know. Scott grins, and holds out his empty hand, pulling Derek up so that he’s standing, so Scott has room to do this properly. 

“I love you,” Scott starts, willing himself not to get choked up. Derek’s grip on his hand gets impossibly tight. The whole is hold its breath. “I know I say it every day, but it’s true every day. I love you more and more every day. I love being with you, spending my day with you. I’ve loved growing up with you in my life.”

There are tears prickling the corners of Scott’s eyes, vision going a little blurry. The sound of Derek’s heart is filling up his head; it’s all he can hear over the white noise in his ears. He swallows around the tightness in his throat and continues. 

“I, fuck -- you make me feel safe, safer than with anyone else. You’ve constantly made me stronger, challenged me. You’ve been by my side, over and over and -- I just --” Scott sniffs, unable to help it. He thumbs at the crease of the ornament before releasing Derek’s hands and stepping back, keeping his gaze on Derek. Tears start to collect at the corners of Derek’s eyes as Scott sinks to his knee, hands fumbling with the box.

When he opens it, there’s a collective gasp, the whole pack craning to see the ring. The shutter of Lydia’s camera is clicking wildly.

A tear makes its way down Derek’s face and Scott can’t keep himself from laughing wetly. 

“I want to spend forever with you,” Scott says, harshly, voice thick with emotion. “The rest of our lives, Derek. You and me and our ragtag pack --” There’s a chorus of _hey!s_ behind him as Derek laughs, wiping away at the wetness on his cheeks -- “Derek Hale, will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” Derek says, with a bright laugh, no hesitation whatsoever. He pulls Scott up and tugs him in so they can kiss. It’s a little gross and wet, but Scott can practically taste the happiness in Derek’s mouth. He keeps mumbling, “yes, yes, yes,” and Scott’s knees are a little weak, relief flooding his whole body. 

Derek holds him up, kisses him over and over. They part enough so Scott can slide the ring over Derek’s finger, hands shaking so obviously that Scott feels himself blushing. It’s more excitement than terror, but it’s a little bit of terror too, the reality of it sinking in. 

_Forever_. 

When Derek frames Scott’s face with his hands, Scott can feel the cool metal of the ring on his cheek, and he might be crying again, but he doesn’t really care, just holds onto Derek tightly. 

The whole room is clapping and cheering and howling. Mom and Stiles are definitely sobbing. The kids are running around Derek and Scott’s ankles excitedly. The whole room gets quiet as car doors slam in the driveway, and Scott snorts because, of _course_ \--

There’s a beat as the doorbell rings and then knob clicks, screen door opening; Scott turns to see Kira, Noshiko, and Ken in the doorway. 

“Fuck! We missed it,” Kira says, and the whole room bursts out laughing all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> LISTEN. not to be a sappy asshole, but I love the Scerek fandom. I love you all so much. I have so much fun with you all, with our cry parties and headcanons and inability to stop hurting each other with overwhelming emotions. we're the little fandom that could, the fandom that refuses to give up. this is my love letter to you all, keep being fucking amazing.
> 
> [tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/)
> 
> if you're wondering -- Amora is Stiles and Malia's daughter, she's three; Miguel is Hayden and Liam's son, he's almost two and a half; Lily is Cora and Candice's daughter, and she's five. Scott is 26 in this, so that puts Derek at 32/34, depending on how you headcanon his age, and they've been together five years. all the dogs are named after How To Train Your Dragon characters because Scott _so would_.


End file.
